


Tell Me Why

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Get-Together Fic, Grantaire pov, M/M, Pining, grantaire is so moody omg, i didn't decide if it'd be a happy or sad until until i was writing it, list format, so have fun with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 10:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: Enjolras finds a list that he was never meant to.Warnings:language, scalding take on (and spoilers for)The Breakfast Club





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Large parts of this are actually un-beta'd, so now you know what that's like. In any case, without [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait)'s guidance this fic would not exist. <3

**10 reasons I absolutely should NOT date Enjolras**

1\. He hates me

2\. Seriously. “Incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, or dying”? He hates me.

3\. He doesn’t laugh at puns. Has anyone ever not laughed at Bossuet’s puns? Yes, one person: Enjolras.

4\. We’re barely compatible enough to even be in the same room for more than five minutes. Zero things in common.

5\. He thinks _The Breakfast Club_ is a bad movie.

6\. I need my brain to to be quiet sometimes, and how can that happen when he’s standing there in that terrible winter sweater and those horrific holiday socks?

7\. He wears terrible winter sweaters with horrific holiday socks. (seriously, he is aware that they blink, right?)

8\. And anyway, he hates Christmas? If I don’t celebrate Christmas I might die.

9\. Bastille Day isn’t even a real holiday.

10\. What if he says yes? And worse, what if, for a sliver of time, we find happiness curled up together in each other’s arms and listening to the rise and fall of each breath, a world made new in each one? And then he ruins it with his vision, or I ruin it with my me, and eternity slips out from our fingers, and

No. No, I can never date Enjolras.

 

\---

**10 reasons I absolutely should NOT date Enjolras: A Rebuttal**

1\. I don’t.

1a. I really, _really_ don’t.

2\. I didn’t mean that. And I don’t know how to take it back, but I wish I could, because I don’t hate you.

3\. Okay, this is Courf: Enj dies at Boss’s puns, so that’s really not fair. He just does it on the inside because he thinks his laugh— 

That’s enough from him. Suffice it to say, I do think Bossuet and his puns are amusing.

4\. We’re both politically aware. We’re both opinionated and derive enjoyment from defending those stances. I started looking into Picasso’s _Guernica_ like you said, and you were right, I love it. Combeferre said you like surrealism, and I don’t care much for it, but Feuilly said you also like impressionism, and I like that a lot better. And I don’t follow mythology, but you’re well-versed in historical revolutions and philosophy, so I think you must have liked them at some point. And I know I told you I thought _Eternal Sunlight of the Spotless Mind_ was a waste of time, but I went home and watched it three more times and couldn't stop crying.

5\. _The Breakfast Club_ plays directly into the hands of traditional beauty standards, heteronormative values, and the vapid get-even mentality that pits society against one another. We even see at the end that no actual character growth occurs when “the brain” is still pressured into writing everyone’s essay for them as a sort of social currency now that they are supposedly “friends.” No, there isn’t the potential that they’ll end up being friends on Monday, that uncertain hope doesn’t hang in the air over the weekend: this is the surest proof that everything is exactly the same as it was before. Molly Ringwald will wear a different pair of earrings, Judd Nelson will continue to be abused by the system his whole life until he’s buried under the heel of society and forced to continue the cycle of his father before him, Emilio Estevez will continue to on to be a WASP who looks in the other direction in the face of injustice, only standing up for people when it benefits him to do so, Ally Sheedy will only succeed when she conforms to society as it expects her to, and Anthony Michael Hall will live his whole life begging for scraps from the table of the elite, if his high-pressure lifestyle doesn’t catch up to him first. And this is not me deciding that this is the way the world is, this is the world John Hughes built for these kids to live in. (We’re not even going to address the blatant sexualization of canonically high school-aged kids.)

6\. We wouldn’t have to be together all the time. And maybe if we spend more time together we can adjust so that we can properly think in one another’s presence.

7\. _They were gifts from you._ (and yes, I’m acutely aware every time I wear them)

8\. I don’t hate Christmas, per se, just everything it stands for. But you’re right, you might die without a proper Christmas celebration (it’s adorable), so I think we could find a middle ground in all of the consumerism and pageantry and pagan appropriation.

9\. It is, and _you’re_ the one who dragged everyone to the roof for fireworks last summer. (Thank you, by the way: they were amazing, and I know you don’t really like them.)

10\. ...can we talk about this? 

 

\---

 

Grantaire has been staring at this Bruegel piece for over two hours, by his best estimation, when he sees a flash of color indicating that someone has sat down beside him. They’re not the first person who has passed through, not even the first to take up residence beside him, but they are the first to speak.

“I always used to assume you’d lean more toward modern art.” He turns to see Enjolras staring steadfastly ahead at the painting. “If nothing else, just to be difficult.”

Grantaire seizes before returning his attention ahead once more to the piece. He’d say he hasn’t been avoiding Enjolras since he received the ‘rebuttal’ to a list the man was never meant to find in the first place, but uh. He definitely has. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He sees a shift beside him—the man leaning back on his hands—before the response comes. “It was either here or the Corinthe, and they said they hadn’t seen you around.”

It hadn’t been an easy decision to continue his sobriety; ultimately, it had come down to the fact that he hadn’t expected Enjolras to know of this particular sanctuary. “Ah.”

They sit in silence for another blessed minute, during which time Grantaire runs through his options. Technically speaking, running away isn’t strictly out just yet, but it would be ungraceful and somewhat awkward; deflecting the conversation to literally anything else is also on the table, despite its obvious nature, but he suspects that Enjolras isn’t in the mood to humor him; the world swallowing him up where he sits is out, he’s been praying (new, very new, but he’s trying) for it for the past fifteen seconds, and it hasn’t come to pass yet; maybe if he moves really, really slowly, Enjolras won’t notice? That might buy him enough time to move to a new country, change his name, and send Joly a letter apologizing for not giving him a proper goodbye.

“How about that weather?” He’s feeling optimistic.

“You skipped last night’s meeting.”

Optimism: misplaced. “I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Extremely busy.”

He hears a sigh, and it takes real effort not to turn and properly realize the man who has come to find him.

“Did you at least receive my response?” Enjolras asks.

‘Did he receive Enjolras’s response?’ As if he’d been able to think of anything else for the past week. Enjolras’s response had been his every fantasy and nightmare in one, a horrible realization of what they could have, what they could be. The actualization of the havoc that could be wreaked on his heart.

“Yeah,” he responds, “I got it.”

There’s a beat. “Thoughts?”

Have the lovers sitting cradled in one another’s arms in the bottom corner been there this whole time? “Nope.”

The silence is a sustained one this time, and it takes a minute for Grantaire to realize that Enjolras has turned his whole torso toward him. “Are you really so invested in avoiding your own happiness?”

Grantaire is determined not to sink too much of his attention—of _himself_ —into this conversation. “Not really? I mean, ‘investment’ implies effort. This is me passively letting it pass me by.”

He peeks over. He doesn’t want to, and it’s the briefest of glances, but it’s enough to verify that the man has a pained expression on his face. Grantaire wants to comfort it away, convince him that it isn’t worth pursuing and to let it go before the worst can happen, but Enjolras has always been a fighter, and it. It’s not worth it. Not this time.

“I just don’t understand,” the man confesses. “You like me, I like you. Why do we need to make this more complicated than it is?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Look, I’m of the opinion that William Blake can keep his ‘kissing the joy as it flies’ bullshit to himself. It’s just pandering to the lowest common denominator. This kind of shit’s just not worth it. We know we’re not gonna work, just let it go.” He huffs. “Find someone who’ll actually care.”

“‘Care’?” Enjolras repeats incredulously.

He rolls his eyes, leaning into the bluff. “Care. About anything. About trying to compromise and make things work and all of the other crap that goes into healthy, functioning relationships. You won’t find it here.”

There’s another pause, and then Grantaire feels Enjolras pressed up beside him knee to thigh, the warmth from the blond’s arm radiating behind him. “Won’t I?” It’s much more gentle and teasing than it should be, and Grantaire is nearly of a mind to fold there and then.

“No,” he responds gruffly. He can’t find it in him to move away, but he can steel himself against the onslaught of temptation. If he does this exactly right, maybe Enjolras will abandon him to his lonely peace.

(‘Does this right,’ as if this is what he wants.)

(But no, this is for both of them.)

“We could always find out,” Enjolras suggests, “instead of making top-heavy assumptions from the start.”

Grantaire snorts. “It would be beyond you to think of the disaster hope can bring. It always has been.”

“The audacity to hope,” Enjolras intones, repeating rhetoric Grantaire is certain he’s used against the man in meetings before.

“Admirable, but not what some situations call for.”

They sit in silence for another while, Enjolras’s face entirely too close to his to actually process anything else. Grantaire thinks he makes a valiant effort, though, drawing his eyes over the now-familiar figures of the painting. There are blond curls tickling his cheek and isn't nearly enough space on the other side of him to scoot, and even if there was he doesn’t think he’d have the willpower to move away. So he sits there, on the precipice between heaven and hell, salvation and damnation, the right choice and the satisfying one. 

He nearly thinks that he may be doomed to put up with this torturous purgatory for the rest of eternity when he hears Enjolras’s voice once more. 

“Grantaire,” the man starts, and Grantaire hopes his gulp isn’t as audible as he thinks it may be, “why did you make that list?”

Lying should come easily, turning his greatest weapon to a noose, but Grantaire feels himself choking on his tongue; Veritas watches him with a sly smile, basking in the glory of her work. A bitter taste comes over his tongue as he swallows the untruth and desperately seeks out some loophole.

“A game.” Hasbro’s classic: Race the Clock! Break your own heart before reality does it for you. “Nothing less, nothing more.”

“A game,” Enjolras repeats, finally resting his head fully on Grantaire’s shoulder, and surely this is how he will die.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, nodding instead.

“Can I play?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire barely resists pulling away from Enjolras to give him an incredulous look. Instead, he nods again.

“Ten reasons I could never date Grantaire,” the man recites. Grantaire feels his stomach dropping: is this some kind of joke to Enjolras? Salt in an open and raw wound?

“One: he’s impossible to be properly mad at. There are times he make me want to tear my hair out and shout into the heavens, but somehow I can never actually direct that rage at him.”

Oh. Oh no. This is so, so much worse.

“Two: I get absolute whiplash hearing him speak. He’ll ramble for ten minutes with pretentious metaphors that go miles over my head, then turn around and make the bawdiest and most ridiculous pun I’ve ever heard.

“Three: he is one of only four people who can reliably make me ugly-laugh. The actual worst.”

Enjolras pauses, as if waiting for Grantaire to interrupt him. He might, too, if he could get his thoughts to stop running laps around his mind. _He thinks I’m funny?_

“Four: even when I ask him directly about himself, he’ll dance around the question, so I have to ask our friends if I ever want to learn anything about him. That or hyperanalyze his every action, and that just makes me really distracted and paranoid all the time. 

“Five: he thinks that _The Breakfast Club_ is a good movie. _Ugh._ ”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, smiling against his will.

“Six: horribly, _horribly_ distracting. Terrible for productivity. See four.

“Seven: worst gift-giver ever. Were you aware that sweaters and socks can blink? Because I now am."

This time he does snort, and he feels a gentle elbow in his side.

“Eight: his favorite holiday is a consumerist bastardization of a Christian bastardization of several Pagan holidays.

“Nine: his second-favorite holiday is International Pancake Day, and he still has the nerve to make fun of the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille.

“And ten: he isn’t even willing to give this a shot.”

A more sober silence falls now as Enjolras sits up and turns his whole body toward Grantaire. 

“What are you worried about with—with us?”

Grantaire tightens his mouth, swallowing before he responds. “That I’ll care too much,” he admits. “Or change too little, and that me by myself will never be enough. I have days, y’know? Days where I feel like I can’t do anything more than get out of bed and drag myself through the motions of my life, and I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me through those days and weeks where nothing feels worthwhile. And I don’t want that for u—for you.”

He feels a hand on his, and Grantaire dares to look up.

“Grantaire,” and Enjolras manages to steal his breath with a single word, “I know your predilection toward Greek tragedies, but it really doesn’t have to be all that complicated. We can start slow, test the waters. Go on dates, proper and actual dates. My world won’t boil down to you, and I would be absolutely shocked if you were even capable of giving up Jehan and Bossuet and Joly and Bahorel. 

“And yes, you’ll have days where you can’t give one hundred percent, and I’ll have days where I’ll be too busy to answer a text or in too foul a mood to want to do anything but hide in my room and work. But I think, even on the worst of days, I might feel better knowing that you...care. About me. 

“I know our relationship has not always been an easy one and that we haven’t always been kind to one another, whatever the purported reason may have been, but we can’t change that without wanting to, and I do want to.” The man pauses, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “But only if you do too.”

Grantaire is frozen. Enjolras is good with words, so good with words, but Grantaire had a list...and even as Enjolras’s arguments start to settle in, the list weighs on Grantaire’s mind, even if its contents entirely escape him while the blond’s attention is on him.

“Can...can I think about it?” He tries to ignore how shattered Enjolras looks at the words. 

He sees the other man swallow hard. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

Again, Grantaire finds himself wanting to comfort Enjolras, just give in and do what he knows he wants to do, but the list was meant to be a safeguard, every reason not to do this. He needs space to review new information, consider things in a fresh light. Think things through.

Breathe.

“Yeah, so uh.” He hastily stands, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around?” Grantaire shrugs as he says it, giving a tight smile before hurrying out of the exhibit without waiting for an answer.

 

—-

 

It’s been three days, and Grantaire doesn’t feel any closer to figuring out what to do. Bahorel told him to pull his head out of his ass (unhelpful), Jehan told him to listen to his heart ( _worse_ ), Joly told him to make a list of pros and cons (oh no, he’s not falling for that one again), and Bossuet just made him hot cocoa and watched dumb horror movies with him on Netflix ( _finally,_ someone with _taste_ ).

He doesn’t bother asking Éponine because he knows what she’ll say, and he knows she’s right.

With a sigh, he sits down at his desk and forces himself to actually begin the long-delayed-but-ultimately-unavoidable process of sorting through his feelings.

So right. Obviously, on the most basic level, he wants to date Enjolras. Like, an unhealthy amount of a lot. And Enjolras seems to think that he wants to date Grantaire, bewilderingly enough.

Grantaire has already dug his own list from before out of the trash can where he’d balled it up and thrown it on receiving Enjolras’s first rebuttal. It lies in front of him now, hardly flat but certainly legible enough. 

1\. So maybe Enjolras had verbally disproved his hatred for Grantaire, and he seemed to be going through the appropriate motions to indicate otherwise now, but what about the next time Grantaire comes into a meeting late? Or forgets that he’s supposed to be sharing their group’s propaganda and gets caught up in a game with an old friend? Or gets them wildly off-topic during a planning session?

2\. Honestly, what even brought him to think that was okay to say? Like, it’s horrible to tell anyone that they are unworthy of existing, much less someone you theoretically _like_. And Grantaire is weak, too weak to hold it against Enjolras the way he should. He’s been too enamoured for too long, and it's just not healthy for him to feel that way.

3\. Okay, Enjolras’s laugh is pretty ridiculous. Like a duck. An adorable, flustered duck who only quacks louder when Grantaire does his stupid seal-clap to accompany his own embarrassing, wheezing laugh.

4\. They were able to talk about things for several minutes in the museum. Indirectly in some whole-group conversations, he’s forced to admit. Directly several times, too, and the fluttering that had taken hold in his stomach and threatened to strangle him at being able to speak directly with Enjolras about things that didn’t even enrage the other man had remained for several days to follow.

5\. Enjolras’s taste in movies really is shit, though.

6\. They don’t have to be around one another all the time, Grantaire reminds himself. Enjolras had said it, and it’s true: were they to date—and they probably won’t, but if they did—things wouldn’t really change much at first. They might sit near each other at gatherings, but they wouldn’t have to. Smiling more, that’d be nice. Go out for dinner or movies or no reason at all, just to be near each other sometimes. That seems...manageable. Potentially.

7\. Hah, best holiday gift ever. High-five, Grantaire. But like. It’s pretty cool that Enjolras was a good sport about it, too.

8\. He doesn’t remember much about Enjolras’s response to this one except that he called Grantaire “adorable” which may or may not have made his heart stop— 

Okay, this is ridiculous.

He stands up from his desk, grabbing for the hat he knocked to the floor coming and jamming it over his head before abandoning his room and heading out.

 

—-

 

“How did you—”

“Here,” Grantaire interrupts, jamming a travel mug into the blond’s hands and settling down next to the man on the edge of the fountain.

Enjolras’s expression turns apologetic. “I don’t like—”

“I know. Just drink it and listen, please.” What he’s about to do finally caught up to him on seeing Enjolras in all of his radiant glory perched in the middle of the square, face red with cold, hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat, and breath coming out in steady puffs, and Grantaire is trying desperately to get keep the shaking of his voice and hands under control. Right now he’s one for two, which he considers good enough.

Enjolras raises his eyebrows, taking a sip. “You knew,” he says, sounding more than a little surprised. 

“Well yeah,” Grantaire huffs, turning to look ahead. “Though I guess that’s kind of the thing: I don’t know when you decided you feel—” he waggles his fingers vaguely in the air “—the way you do, about me, but uh. I’ve felt my way for...a while. And so,” he pauses, taking a deep breath and willing his nausea away, “if we do this, it needs to go slowly. Like, glacially slow. I can’t—I mean, I don’t want to get too caught up in this. I’m going to need, like, checks and balances. It’ll need to be a very slow transition, and also I need you to guide me to whatever you’re comfortable with, because I am extremely lost as to, um, healthy pacing? For us? That is, like, if you’re still interested,” he adds, tightening his mouth into a flat line. “And if you’re not, that’d be cool, too.” 

There are plenty of people in the square going about their lives, but Grantaire hasn’t seen any of them, eyes trained on some invisible middle ground through his entire spiel. There’s a long silence, and suddenly he feels like a total ass for pulling this exact stunt on Enjolras when their positions had been reversed. He clears his throat before speaking. “Thoughts?” Grantaire asks, bringing his coffee to his mouth.

The quiet stretches between them, and Grantaire is nearly worried that the man has abandoned him at some point during his pointed non eye-contact. At long last, though, a voice that is unmistakably Enjolras’s raises. “And you’d be willing to try?” 

Grantaire is startled at the question that he does turn to Enjolras, whose attention is focused ahead. 

The man glances over. “You’ll care?”

That must have hit more of a nerve than Grantaire had realized before. He takes a deep breath. “Look, if I’m agreeing to this, it means I’m all-in. I can’t promise that I’m going to be perfect, like I said before, but I’m going to try. This is what I want.” He reaches up to his head with a gloved hand, adjusting his hat with an agitated tug. “And like. If we’re not working out, if we’re not happy, we can call it splitsies or whatever, but it won’t be for lack of trying on my part.”

He lets the quiet sit between them, taking another swig from his coffee and finally seeing the people who pass. A girl with a balloon, a man with a cat tucked under his arm, a businesswoman whose loafers apparently weren’t designed with icy conditions in mind.

“So...I guess we’re doing this then?” Enjolras says at last. 

Relief courses through Grantaire’s whole body, so much so that Grantaire nearly catches a mouthful of coffee with the front of his coat. He manages a very intentional swallow before responding. “I guess so,” he agrees. Nothing feels any different, except that everything is? Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Enjolras flush and smiling in a way he wasn’t minutes ago. “Any ideas for our first official act as a couple?”

“Well,” Enjolras begins, throwing back the rest of his drink, “I was thinking we could get refills wherever you picked up this tea, if that sounds agreeable to you.”

Grantaire grins. “It very well might.”

Enjolras stands and turns to Grantaire, tucking half of his face behind a lumpy blue scarf before he speaks again. “Would asking you over for a movie after be too fast?”

Grantaire considers it. “It might,” he admits, “but at the next movie night maybe we can sit together?”

Enjolras’s whole body seems to sags with relief. “That’s doable. We can definitely do that.”

Grantaire joins Enjolras, walking beside him out of the square and toward the cafe he’d purchased their drinks at. He clears his throat awkwardly as they wait to cross the busy street, standing close enough that their elbows nearly bump. “Feelings on handholding?”

Beside him, he sees Enjolras’s smile grow wider just before he feels warmth intertwining with his fingers. “Overall, positive.”

They cross the street with minimal difficulty and enter the shop, the scents of coffee beans and flavourings swirling in a heady cloud around Grantaire. He looks over to Enjolras, only to catch the man already gazing at him. The blond’s face pinkens in a way Grantaire doesn’t think has anything to do with the warmth of the bustling cafe, and a grin breaks over his face. Enjolras smiles back, and Grantaire allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe, this can actually work.

 

\---

**10 reasons dating Enjolras was the worst mistake I could have made**

1\. I can’t pass through the square without thinking of him.

2\. I can’t go to the Musain without thinking of him.

3\. I can’t read political theory without thinking of him.

4\. I can’t appreciate _Guernica_ or any of J.M.W. Turner’s works without thinking of him.

5\. Movies are just out. _Especially_ the terrible ones.

6\. I can’t appreciate a good coffee anymore.

7\. Every one of my sweatshirts seems ruined without him wearing them.

8\. Not sure how you can ruin Christmas, but he managed.

9\. The world just feels emptier and lonelier without him there.

10\. I couldn’t have even imagined life being this way this if we had just not gotten together in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love _The Breakfast Club_.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh my God, R, you melodramatic git,” Enjolras laughs (quacks), list still in-hand.

“Is that a yes?” Grantaire grins. 

Enjolras collects himself enough to raise his eyebrows to where Grantaire is knelt on one knee. “You realize that this is the worst proposal ever, right?”

“I’ll have you know that I did some research in advance, and there are _countless_ dumpster-fire proposals that outrank this one, multiple of which ended in the hospital.” 

“‘Worst mistake I could have made’?” Enjolras quotes. His words are serious, but his tone is amused.

“Well yeah: if you ever decide I’m not worth the trouble, I’m boned. Absolutely, hopelessly screwed. Do you know how many people would stay with me after a proposal like this? Zero. Well, optimistically one,” he corrects, waggling his eyebrows at Enjolras, “but mostly zero.”

“And you decided that listing all of the things I ruined for you was the way to go about this?”

“A world without you is not a world I want to be in,” Grantaire declares, seriousness finally beginning to steep into his words. “Everything about my life is better for having you in it, and moreover you make me want to be a better person every single day.”

Is Enjolras tearing up? “And this,” the man responds, clearing his throat, “is the way you decided best captured the sentiment?”

Grantaire’s knees are beginning to hurt, and he stands up only to throw himself down beside his boyfriend, clicking the ring box shut as he does and reaching over to snuggle up to the man. “It was Bossuet’s idea.”

“Bossuet suggested that you propose to me by telling me I’ve ruined you for being single?” Enjolras appears to be resisting the cuddles, but Grantaire knows after seven years of dating that the blond is weak-willed in the face of physical affection. He’ll break soon enough. 

“No, he said a list would be romantic. The topic was _all_ me,” Grantaire responds, wrapping his arms even more tightly around Enjolras and burying his face in the man’s neck.

He feels Enjolras sigh and hears the smile in his voice. “Well, Grantaire, I’m afraid I cannot accept your proposal on principle.”

“Oh? And what principle is that?”

“Basic self-respect, you ass,” he laughs, trying to push Grantaire away. Grantaire already has the upper hand, though, pinning Enjolras down to the couch with a roar and crawling over the blond to deliver a barrage of kisses to his boyfriend’s neck and cheeks. 

It’s okay: they’ve already discussed all of the ins and outs of what marriage would mean for them, and he knows Enjolras wants to. He has all the time in the world to get this right.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make other lists, then,” Grantaire concedes between pecks. “10 reasons Enjolras requires an appointed overseer in the kitchen for the rest of his life?”

“ _Not better,_ ” Enjolras manages through giggles.

“Hmm,” Grantaire pretends to consider, “10 reasons Grantaire should always be in charge of selecting movies?”

“You’re the worst.”

“10 proposals worse than this one?”

“Hard to imagine.”

“Number 7 will _shock_ you.” After two more kisses to Enjolras’s nose, Grantaire pauses. “Really, all of them would, they were _appallingly_ terrible.”

“How about this,” Enjolras says, rolling them on their sides to look at one another. 

“One,” he starts, placing a kiss on Grantaire’s forehead, “I love you.

“Two,” to Grantaire’s brow, “I love you.

“Three,” the space beside his eye, “I love you.

“Four,” his cheekbone, “I love you.

“Five,” his cheek, “I love you.

“Six,” his jaw, “I love you.”

“I think I see where this is going, but your argument is compelling enough that I’m willing to see it through.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes briefly before continuing. “Good. I love you, I love you, I love you,” the man continues, hastily applying kisses along Grantaire’s jaw up to his chin. 

“And finally, most importantly,” Enjolras states seriously, reaching a hand behind Grantaire’s neck to pull him into a deep kiss, “I love you.”

Grantaire has to be grinning like an absolute idiot by now, but he cannot bring himself to care in the least. “And what’s that a list of?”

Enjolras is gently rubbing his thumb across Grantaire’s cheekbone when he responds, looking at him as if he hung the moon. “10 reasons I’m accepting your absolutely awful proposal against my better judgment. 

“Now,” he continues, turning away from Grantaire and nestling up against him so that Grantaire can hook his face over the his boyfriend’s— _fiancé’s_ —shoulder, “tell me about the ten proposals that will make yours look impressive by comparison.” 

Grantaire chuckles, pulling Enjolras in closer and nestling his face into the man’s curls. “Well, let me start by asking you this: how familiar do you think the layperson is with _matelotage_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hah! Bet you never expected _moi_ to write a fix-it ending, did you??
> 
> In related news, my beta-reader has already informed me she's personally flying out to kick my ass. ;*
> 
> Want to check in with her about getting a group-rate? Comment below or message me at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com). :D


End file.
